


Cliff Edges

by Parhelion



Category: Nero Wolfe - Stout
Genre: Community: picfor1000, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-03
Updated: 2009-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-02 15:56:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parhelion/pseuds/Parhelion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nature walks have their hazardous moments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cliff Edges

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the seventh picfor1000 writing challenge on LiveJournal. Many thanks to Greybard for the beta.

I never thought I would take a nature walk with Nero Wolfe. He may be a great detective, but he could also double for a water buffalo if permitted to skip the plodding through the paddies part. That is one big reason he employs me to deal with problems like hiking.

However, Professor Martingale had formerly numbered among the five men welcome to call my boss Nero, and Wolfe takes his promises to the dead seriously. I followed Wolfe along the trail crossing Maine sea cliffs, ready to move fast if he looked like he was going over. In that case, my instructions were to grab Martingale's ashes, but I was fairly sure I would grab Wolfe, instead. As he did when we hiked the mountains of Montenegro, hunting murderers together, Wolfe had dialed down the petulance. I was still in charity with him.

We paused on a level stretch. There was a great view over the Atlantic from ninety feet up. Wolfe glared at it and breathed loudly. He needed the huffing; ever since the funeral in Cambridge, he had been quiet. I decided to give him more chances to be loud. "You could have let his heir do the job."

"Joseph asked me. You know why, having met his grandson at the funeral."

True, the guy had seemed like the sort who would sneak the ashes over the fantail of his yacht in Newport Bay to avoid effort: same ocean, after all. I said, "Okay, I'll settle for pointing out the sea breeze. Don't blame me if you get a mouthful of grit."

"Archie, don't provoke me. While I appreciate your motives, your help is not necessary. This abominable trail gives me all the opportunities I need to purge my feelings."

I hate it when I am transparent, even considering how often that happens after all these years. I shrugged. Wolfe turned away, looked at the trail in front of us - which had suddenly remembered that up was its favorite direction - and one corner of his mouth twisted. Grimly, he plodded on.

The headland where we finally halted had rock outcroppings, blades of grass whipped around by the breeze, and a sign warning us not to do what we were going to do, which was approach the cliff edge. Even Wolfe took more time than he needed to study the vista of dark sea and bright sky stretching out toward a horizon fading away into forever. He grunted, sounding reluctantly impressed. "Joseph always did have an eye for a difficult venture worth great effort."

Hearing those words from Professor Martingale's "difficult venture" into friendship, I grinned.

Wolfe ignored me. Instead he anchored his homburg with a small stone and put down his applewood stick beside it. He straightened to study the cliff edges, eyes narrowed.

"I should go first," I pointed out.

"No." Maybe thinking he had packed too much into that word, he added, "Your weight before mine would only increase the instability." With that, he opened the wooden box he now held and carefully walked up to the cliff. I tensed. His arm pulled back and snapped forward as he pitched the entire box over the edge.

He had gauged his moment, and his toss, well. The box arced out into a brief calm, tumbling end over end, dumping its contents. Then the breeze caught the ashes and bone fragments, blowing them toward the cliff face below us and down into the inlet where waves worked their way through dark rocks.

We may have had permission to scatter Martingale's ashes because of his work with the Island Association, but I would wager adding the box was illegal. Not that Wolfe has ever cared much about law when he thought something needed to be done.

"Sleep well," he said to the rocks, waves, and ashes, and he was finished. He stepped back from the edge.

That was when the cliff decided to crumble, of course. I saw him lurch, and heard the grating slide as stone started its long drop into the sea. Dust puffed up. He almost fell. But Wolfe can move fast when he wants to, and I was lunging to yank him away even as he leapt toward safer ground. We ended up crammed together about ten feet from the new edge with my hands clutching his upper arms.

Heart still pounding, annoyed, I asked, "So, is here where you want your ashes dumped? The view's nice." He smelled of sea and shaving soap. And he was warm. This early in Spring, the breeze blew sharp.

"Don't be absurd. I desire a resting place, not funeral games."

"I don't know. I'd bet I could lap Lon, Fred, and Saul during the mile run."

"Save your money. You'll find my plans are less ambitious than Joseph's were." He shifted away a little without the haste you'd expect from a guy who hates being touched. We weren't arguing over whether or not I would still have my job when he died, either. Dragging along human remains on two trains, a drive, a ferry, and a three mile hike weakens bluffs.

"Maybe I'll be the one requesting track and field. You just put on an impressive display in the shot-put."

"You will excuse me if I hope not to linger long enough to compete."

"Then I'll race you for the privilege of going first. Last man living loses."

Wolfe's gaze met my own. His eyes are dark brown, the only clear window to his feelings. The breeze ruffled the grass some more.

He looked away before I did. "We're leaving. This wind is cold, and I want lobster." I let go, and he picked up his hat and stick before leading the way back down the trail.

I followed him down without protest, even after he shared his opinion of wild shrubs, in detail. After all, Wolfe was right. It's dangerous to linger on an unstable cliff edge when it starts crumbling away beneath you.


End file.
